


jinxed

by Nearly



Series: hurt/comfort bingo [1]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Buck Whump, Gen, Hurt Evan "Buck" Buckley, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, he gets a lil fucked up lads, it's buddie if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24813340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nearly/pseuds/Nearly
Summary: Buck really needs to stop jinxing things. It happens every time; the moment he lets himself think that things are going to work out for him, for the team, it all goes to shit immediately. It’s like the universe is listening, waiting to show him just how much bad luck a person can have in their life. He's getting pretty tired of it.
Relationships: Evan “Buck” Buckley & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: hurt/comfort bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817455
Comments: 18
Kudos: 284





	jinxed

**Author's Note:**

> ok this was supposed to be a short fill for a h/c bingo prompt on tumblr, but I got carried away?? anyway have fun with this

Buck really needs to stop jinxing things. It happens every time; the moment he lets himself think that things are going to work out for him, for the team, it all goes to shit immediately. It’s like the universe is listening, waiting to show him just how much bad luck a person can have in their life. He’s getting pretty tired of it. But, endlessly optimistic as he always tries to be, he lets himself hope things will work out anyway. Yeah, maybe it’s a little bit out of spite. Suck it, universe. 

Of course, that just makes the universe hit him harder, because it doesn’t like being insulted, apparently. He’s out on a call with the team this time. They’d had a minor earthquake, much smaller than the one they’d had when Eddie was still a rookie, but it was enough to cause some structural damage and put a couple of people in need of rescuing. No big deal, right? That’s Buck’s specialty. 

The house they pull up to is a nice one. Three stories, old and elegant; it’s one of the few Victorian-style mansions still left in this area of the city—which was designated as a historic preservation zone in 1983, Buck announces, even if Chim laughs and teases that they didn’t ask—but it doesn’t look like it’ll be standing much longer. The roof has caved in over the wrap-around porch, making it a bit of a challenge to reach the door, and Buck can tell the upper levels are beginning to strain. Dispatch had informed them that there were two people on the second floor, where a doorway had collapsed and trapped them in their bedroom. 

Buck and Eddie head in, picking their way over the wreckage of the porch. Buck eyes the ceiling warily when they make it past the door, noting one of the larger cracks that’s opened up in a corner. The house might be mostly in one piece, but it’s definitely not stable. They’ll have to be quick. 

“Looks like the stairs are still viable,” Eddie says, testing his weight on the lowest few steps. They hold. 

“Convenient,” Buck says. He follows Eddie up, and they find the issue, clear as day. Just like dispatch had said, the doorway of the bedroom had collapsed, and parts of the third floor had come down on top of it, making the whole front section of the room impassable. Unless, of course, you’re a firefighter with heavy equipment designed specifically for this purpose. 

Buck gets himself set up to start shifting debris while Eddie calls out to the couple, trying to gauge how far they are from the wreckage, or if there are any injuries. Thankfully, it seems like they’d managed to get themselves out of the way; they’re unhurt, and huddled in the corner of the room that still has a ceiling. 

They get the couple out in record time, and Buck feels lucky for the first time in a while. Eddie leads the way back down the stairs while Buck follows, keeping the couple between them. It’s easy. No one’s hurt this time. They’ve had simple calls all day, and they’re nearing the end of their shift with nothing major having gone down at all. It’s probably the first time in months that they’ve had a relatively relaxed shift, and it’s almost nice. 

Just then, the ground rumbles. Buck steadies himself on a wall as the aftershock ripples underneath them, setting the house trembling all over again. He can hear the old wood creaking ominously. 

They’re  _ so  _ close to the door. Eddie is nearly there already, kicking out debris to make room to get the couple safely outside. Buck rights himself and moves, herding his charges towards the opening Eddie has just created. He can feel the aftershock fading, but they don’t want to waste any time, because that crack he’d spotted earlier is larger than before and no one wants to get caught when this building comes down. 

It’s just as he helps the man they’d rescued through the doorway and gets ready to climb out himself that Buck realizes he’s done it again; the universe hates him, and he’d had the audacity to think this was going to be easy. The walls groan loudly, and he makes the mistake of looking up, just in time to see the fissure in the ceiling widening further.  _ Oh, shit, _ he thinks.

Buck scrambles desperately for the doorway, but he only makes it far enough to catch Eddie’s wide eyed expression for a split second before the ground shifts, tilts, and the walls come tumbling inwards. 

* * *

Buck comes back to himself in a haze of pain. It’s everywhere, a whole body ache that won’t let up.  _ So this is what a house feels like, _ he muses, and then frowns when he realizes that doesn’t make any sense. His mind feels sluggish, like it hasn’t quite caught up to what’s happening, and he can’t bring himself to focus on anything past the fact that everything  _ hurts.  _

He tries to shift, and the pain flares harshly, slamming him the rest of the way into consciousness as he tries to breathe through it. He blinks his eyes open to darkness, the faint shapes of wooden beams above him, and plaster dust coating everything in a fine layer of white. There’s noise coming from somewhere by his ear, and it takes him a moment too long to realize that it’s his radio, still clipped to his uniform. It clicks again and Buck’s head lolls to the right, trying to listen. 

_ “Buckley!” _ Bobby’s voice crackles through, sounding like this isn’t the first time he’s tried to call for him. How long had Buck been out? His head aches too much to try to think, so he lets it go. It doesn’t matter anyway. 

He feels like he should answer. His captain is calling for him, so he should respond, right? He can’t ignore Bobby. He doesn’t want to get fired again. 

Buck tries to reach for his radio, only to pull up short when his left arm won’t move. Why won’t it move? He rolls his head over to his other side, blinking slowly, and—oh. It’s stuck. It’s stretched out past the little pocket of space he’s found himself in, meaning it wasn’t protected by the larger beams that are holding the rest of the debris up from crushing him completely. 

Without thinking, Buck tugs on it, trying to get it free. His mind doesn’t register how bad that idea was until his vision nearly whites out, agony lancing up the limb all the way to his shoulder. He’s panting by the time it fades back to a slightly-less-debilitating ache, and he decides that he’s  _ definitely  _ not going to try that again. Instead, he reaches for his radio with his right arm, which seems mostly fine. His team is still calling for him, and he wants to respond, but the best he can manage when he fumbles for the button is a low whine. The clamoring voices all stop, briefly, and then—

_ “Buck?” _ Bobby again, more tentative than Buck has ever heard him. 

“Bobby,” he groans, finally getting his voice to work. 

_ “Oh, thank god,” _ Bobby says.  _ “Just hold on, son, we’ll get you out of there.”  _

Buck feels himself drift for a second. Everything feels a little fuzzy, but he can’t find it in himself to worry, not when he knows his team is coming for him. They’ll get him out. 

_ “Hey, Buck,”  _ Eddie’s voice from the radio brings him back, just barely.  _ “You still with us, buddy?”  _

Buck hums affirmatively. 

_ “Gotta give me more than that, man,”  _ Eddie chastises.  _ “You know the drill. Stay awake, keep talking. How about you tell me how you’re feeling, so we know what we’re lookin’ at when we get you out of there?”  _

“Mmm, yeah,” Buck murmurs. He blinks languidly. “Head hurts.” 

_ “I’m sure it does,” _ Eddie says.  _ “You were out for a bit.”  _

“Think I fucked up my ribs,” Buck continues, “an’ my arm. It’s stuck.” 

Eddie lets out a low whistle, and he sounds sympathetic when he prompts,  _ “Anything else?”  _

“Don’t think so,” Buck says. He blinks again, eyelids feeling heavier than before. Why is he so tired? “Gettin’ sleepy down here, Eds.” 

_ “None of that, bud,”  _ Eddie responds,  _ “How about I tell you what Christopher is doing for his history project? He’s learning about dinosaurs.” _

Buck knows Eddie is just trying to keep him awake, but he actually  _ does _ want to know what Christopher is learning, so he agrees. Eddie launches into the dinosaur spiel easily. Buck just listens as he talks, letting his arm fall across his midsection now that he doesn’t need it to press the button on his radio. 

Belatedly, he recognizes that his side is wetter than it should be. He hadn’t even registered it amidst all the pain from his arm, but now that he’s got his hand pressed up against it, he can feel the warmth seeping out against his fingers. 

_ Huh, _ he thinks, bringing his hand up to look at it. He can’t make out much in the dark, but it’s definitely dripping with something. 

“Eddie,” he calls into the radio, trying not to let it slip out of his slick fingers. Eddie stops in the middle of his sentence, but before he can ask, Buck mutters, “Think ‘m bleeding.” 

_ “Fuck,” _ Eddie hisses, mostly to himself, it seems. Buck can hear him call out to Bobby, before he’s back again.  _ “We’re almost there, Buck, don’t worry. We got you.” _

“I jinxed it,” Buck says quietly. He thinks he should put pressure on the wound, or something, but his body feels heavy and he can’t bring himself to move his good hand. He wants to keep talking to Eddie. 

_ “What?” _ Eddie asks. 

“I jinxed it,” Buck repeats, his words coming out a little slurred. “Thought we were gonna make it. But th’ universe hates me. Made me fall.” 

He thinks Eddie responds, but he can’t really be sure. He feels like he’s underwater. The sounds of shifting rubble are distorted and distant, and he’s losing his precarious grip on consciousness again. 

“Buck luck,” he snorts, half out of it. His hand slips off the radio. He dimly registers someone calling to him, from somewhere close, but his energy is spent. He lets himself fade out, and hopes his team gets through to him in time. 

* * *

Buck  _ really  _ needs to stop jinxing things. This is, what, the fifth time he’s ended up in the hospital? Sixth? That’s too many. He’s so tired of hospitals. At least this time, they’ve got him on the good painkillers, so he doesn’t feel quite as shitty as he did when he was stuck under two floors worth of rubble. 

He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and gives himself a moment to focus, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmed lights of the room. He takes stock: left arm in a heavy cast from wrist to elbow. Side and chest wrapped up, head still aching like a bitch but better now that there’s a pillow under it rather than a pile of stone foundation. Right hand being held by someone else. What? 

Buck frowns and looks down at his hand, where it’s grasped between both of Eddie’s, who is fast asleep and spread out across two hospital chairs. Buck stares at him for a moment, debating whether or not to wake him. Ultimately he decides not to, because he doesn’t really want him to wake up and decide to take his hand back. Near-death experiences call for a little hand-holding, right? So Buck is just going to let himself enjoy this for a minute. He sighs and settles back, still tired enough that he wants to fall straight back into sleep. After another moment of studying the way Eddie’s hands are clutching his, even in sleep, Buck closes his eyes again. His last thought as he drifts off is,  _ maybe my luck isn't so bad, after all.  _

**Author's Note:**

> you know the drill. kudos, comment, yell at me on [tumblr.](https://nearly-writes.tumblr.com/) love ya ;)


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